


Unconventional

by Noelle_Floust



Category: DCU, Joker (2019)
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Near Death, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelle_Floust/pseuds/Noelle_Floust
Summary: The reader and Joker form an unlikely, unhealthy bond





	1. An Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, yeah. This one's gonna be on the grittier side. I have no idea what urged me to do this *cough* I would die for Joaquin Phoenix *cough* Enjoy.

It didn't matter how or why you got here, all that mattered was the man above you, pounding into you with those desperate little grunts.

He certainly wasn't the first, but he might be the last, if your open wounds were anything to go by. He had tried halfheartedly to patch them, but was distracted by your torn shirt. In the end, men were all the same.

The more your vision blurred and faded at the edges, the more you seemed to not care. The cold cement felt like nothing against your bare ass and lower back, the wet garbage smell coming from the dumpster didn't smell any worse or better than crisp night air.

His hair tickled your face. It was that constant, irritating motion that kept you there. You were in no shape to move, so brushing it away and succumbing to death was not an option. What was a little more suffering anyway?

He finished with a whispered, "I love you" and you actually felt sad for the poor man. No doubt some sort of fast progressing stockholm syndrome.

He pulled out, and buttoned himself back up. It was raining again, and his face paint began to blend together into one runny blob.

"Can you walk?"

You couldn't have replied even if you wanted to. The man sighed and crouched down. For a moment you thought he was going to end your pain, and maybe you could have given a "yipee" right there, but then he picked you up. You let your head loll back. The rain felt nice.

The mouth of the alley was where he stopped. He wiped the majority of his makeup off onto his bright red sleeve, then shed his suit jacket and vest, having to set your feet on the ground for a moment.

He picked you up once more and continued his journey. You were feeling much more in pain and alive then. You wished you weren't.

The bright lights of the hospital hurt your eyes. You felt a swell of confused affection for the man.

He set you down at the empty entrance to the ER, and fled. Your eyes closed.


	2. A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters are definitely not going to be put out as soon after the previous chapter as this one was. I just got into a writing mood.

Tinny beeps bouncing around in your pounding skull were what awoke you. At first, the only pain you felt and remembered was that headache, and you were at peace. Then, you remembered the events of last night.

No tears welled up in your eyes, no metaphorical fist clenched at your insides. You just considered the memories. Filed through them, then neatly organized them back into the crevices of your mind.

"Up, are we?"

You locked eyes with a rather good-looking female nurse. She had a tiny smile that seemed to be needing a good smack to wipe off.

"We've put you on pain-killers for the wounds, and an IV for nutrients," she said disinterestedly, coming closer to check the various monitors. "a social worker will be by sometime today to ask some questions."

You didn't say a word. You knew the nurse couldn't provide anything useful, so you just stared until she left. She took her time, pretending to straighten things up or write things down while glancing back at you every now and then. What the fuck was her problem?

When she left, more nurses passed by your open door, all looking in or even stopping momentarily to gander at you.

That was the only time in your adult life that you were curious about anything. More annoyed than anything, but still wondering why _professionals_ couldn't stop fucking staring.

You adjusted yourself and looked down at your body. The small twinges coming from your wrapped torso alerted you that that was where the worst wounds were.

You searched your memory again for the source of the injuries, and you remembered him, coming at you in full clown makeup.

You recalled his knife plunging into your shoulder, then side. You remembered that you screamed.

When you fell, the light in your eyes and your wounds quickly going numb, he stabbed some more, then looked into your eyes.

He must have found something in your face that looked familiar or sympathetic, because a wild sort of regret filled his eyes. He started mumbling and looking over the wounds, pulling a flask from his inner jacket pocket and pouring the alcohol over your wounds. It did sting, and that was the last sensation you remember before the numbness truly set in.

You didn't particularly want to remember the rest. You didn't want to think about where you would go after this, either, so you slept.

The social worker woke you a few hours later. She was old, but nice enough. She asked you the basic questions that came with these types of events. They were all along the lines of questions you'd been asked a million times before.

She looked at you with pity, which you tried not to get angry at. It was her job to show empathy, after all.

She left, and you could finally sleep some more, had it not been for the long-haired man walking through your door with his eyes downcast.


	3. An Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find out about this mysterious man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I promise you'll have to wait for the next chapter. No more mass uploading.

He was sitting in the only visitors chair in the room. His leg was bouncing, and his eyes kept shifting around.

"Were you…?"

You couldn't finish the question. It was too painful, with him sitting there. He nodded.

You didn't exactly know what to say. After all, he did try to end your life, and then save it in the span of a few minutes. He could have left you, but he didn't.

"Thank you." You said, more out of awkwardness and not knowing what to say than sincerity.

The man's head shot up, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

He burst out laughing.

You went from offended to concerned as his laughing turned to choking. He grasped his throat, his brow furrowing. You were getting uncomfortable right as his laughing ceased.

He took a few gasping breaths, then looked back to you with teary eyes. They struck a chord in you, and suddenly you remembered seeing him elsewhere.

"You were assaulted the other day," you said, knowing exactly how inconsiderate you were being, but he _had_ stabbed you. "those guys hit you with a sign or something."

The man's fists clenched, and he looked back towards the ground.

"They got what they deserved." He said.

Okay, so he definitely had some issues. And he was probably talking about how he murdered the men who beat him, but maybe that was just punishment. Maybe they beat him within an inch of his life. Sure, going to the police was probably a better option, but how could you know if he did that or not?

Then there was the bit about him and his knife both being inside of you, within moments of each other. Perhaps he was attempting to make amends.

You tried to make polite conversation, but he would either evade answering or break into a laughing fit.

There was a great part of you that wanted to ask what his name was, but you knew that was the first step to making a connection with someone, and making a connection with your almost-murderer was not the best idea.

As the room grew silent, you decided it might be better to wall yourself up and do a little manipulating. This man was clearly sick. Making him upset was not a priority.

"What's your name?"

The man looked up with that surprised face again.

"Arthur." He said without stuttering, "Arthur Fleck."

Arthur's visits grew longer the more comfortable he became with you. Apparently Gotham Hospital didn't screen anyone who said they were family and wanted to visit a patient.

While Arthur still made you undeniably uncomfortable, your little theories about his disorders comforted you enough that you started being able to open up.

One theory was that he had some sort of Schizophrenia- which wasn't the most comforting thought. His mood changes and unacceptance of social cues clued you in on that one. While it didn't mean that there was a hope for him to be stable at any point, it still explained his behavior.

Another theory was that he had dissociative identity disorder. It made sense after learning what horrors he had experienced in his past, and meant that there was a part of him that could be stable.

Trauma was something you had in common.

He told you about his mother, and lack of a father, and his disorders and job. A little too much information on some things, such as his lack of sexual experience.

After a while, he seemed… _normal_.

It could have been the lack of any other human contact (besides the overworked nurses), or it could have been that Arthur genuinely was charming sometimes. Whatever it was, your flimsy wall had a gaping hole in it.

A month had passed in a torturous crawl, the only reprieve being Arthur's visits and the small talks with nurses. Your wounds still pained you, but they were healed.

The hospital didn't bother with the pesky business of asking if you had anywhere to go. All they required was your (stolen) medicaid card. Someone you swiped it from in Illinois had either passed away or not cared enough to order a new card.

Arthur was waiting for you outside of the hospital. It was nearing night time, and he had to call for you to get you to notice him. You were suddenly reminded of that night a month ago.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He asked.

You debated on whether or not to tell the truth. You had grown close over your time spent together, but you were not sure living with him would be comfortable.

The last place you had been staying in was a ramshackle building near the edge of Gotham- one of many. There were some addicts moving in just before your stay in the hospital, so it was that or living in warmth where food was accessible with the man who had almost ended your life.

The draw of food and warmth was powerful. You accepted.


	4. A Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first taste of life with Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a day when my notes about waiting for chapters will actually be true. That day is not today. I just love writing this too much.

Walking around the dimly lit place was enough to see that Arthur didn't clean up after himself. There were colors everywhere that didn't belong there, and whether they were from his clown makeup or something else, you didn't care to ask.

It was a place to stay, and as long as you had your pocket knife- which you had found outside the hospital on the way to this apartment- stashed in you underwear or somewhere safe, you would be fine. Your reflexes had been sharpened from all of those years living on the streets.

Music drifted down the hall from somewhere in the back. It was a crackly old tune that sounded like it could've been in an instructional video in the fifties. Having really nowhere else to go, you followed it.

You wished you hadn't. Arthur had stripped down to his underwear and was dancing around the room in fluid motions that didn't match the music. His eyes were closed, and the corners of his mouth were curved upwards, though he didn't look happy.

Eyes popped open, and his arms fell to his sides. He had an unnerving grin on his face then.

He held a hand out to you.

_Oh_ _jesus_.

_You're living with the man. Best to not make him angry_.

You took his hand, and he pulled you into him with a surprising amount of strength for someone who looked as malnourished as he did.

You wouldn't have touched his stretched skin if you had any choice, but as it was, one of your hands had to press against his chest for balance.

The music crackled on, and Arthur lead you in a dance similar to the one he had just been performing. You kept your head to the side, not wanting to see that look in his eyes.

When the music stopped, two long minutes later, Arthur let you go.

He stared at you, and you stared at the floor.

Maybe this wasn't the best idea.


	5. An Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds something of yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am way too excited about writing this. Someone needs to restrain me from posting two chapters a day.

You slept in what used to be Arthur's mother's room. He had tried to explain to you, through tears, that she had passed last month, but you stopped him, feeling pity for the man.

He worked as a clown during the day on the grimy, crime-infested streets of Gotham. You worried for him sometimes, but then remembered those dark looks he threw you on the occasion. He could take care of himself now.

At night, you two ate together over the Murray Franklin show. Arthur was a horrible cook, but he tried to the best of his abilities and usually made something edible. His mumblings about the rich, and “death to the bourgeois” during meals were swallowed just like the food- with some amount of difficulty.

Your time alone was what kept you in that dingy place. Arthur could make you laugh if he was in a good mood, but usually, he was either on his meds and entirely one-dimensional, or off his meds and in a raving and bouncing off the walls type of mood, so your best company was yourself.

You had never had so much time to yourself in a safe place. You went on walks in the safer neighborhoods, doodled all over the important medical files in your room, watched TV, and, best of all, slept. Never had so many naps been taken in history by one single person. Arthur learned not to try to wake you.

As long as you didn’t think about what had happened with him, you felt that his apartment was a place where your mental state may even improve. You had hopelessly hopeful thoughts about finding a job and making enough money to get yourself back on your feet. This was Gotham, so no one was going to help you out but yourself. And you intended on doing just that.

Arthur was out at a kid’s party or something. You had a couple of different newspapers spread out on your bed in front of you, all of them open to the jobs section. Some were circled, others crossed out; you were technically homeless, sure, but you had standards.

The front door slammed, and you bit down on the pen between your teeth in surprise. Bitter ink spilled into your mouth, and you cursed. Arthur’s tantrum could wait. 

You walked down the hall to the bathroom and stuck your mouth under the stream of water. It turned black on its way to the drain.

Arthur stepped into the doorway. He was still in clown garb and makeup. You waved.

“What are you doing?”

You held up a finger. The water was almost clear. You spat out the last bit of ink and turned the tap off.

“Ink accident," you said. “Sorry. How was work?"

Arthur pinned you with a cold stare.

“I was fired.” He said, “But that doesn’t matter. What’s this?”

He held up your pocket knife. Your heart dropped into your stomach.


	6. A Descension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are punished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**  
This chapter contains a semi-graphic depiction of rape. Probably not the worst thing you've ever read, but it is uncomfortable. Necessary to the plot, of course, but still uncomfortable. You have been warned.

"My pocket knife." You said as evenly as possible.

Arthur turned his attention towards the knife, turning it over in his hand as if it were a source of intrigue.

"Why do you have it?"

You stumbled, "In case anyone breaks in."

Arthur laughed a laugh that sounded more like a snarl. This was no longer Arthur. He tucked the knife calmly into his bright red coat, and rushed forward.

You didn't have any time to react before he had slammed you into the back wall, his hand around your throat. You flailed your legs, trying for the life of you to kick him somewhere that would make him let go. 

He pressed his pelvis against yours. He was hard.

"You think you can bring weapons into my home when I took you in off the street?" He yelled, "Think you were gonna hurt me?"

You choked and shook your head as best you could. Your fingernails clawed at Arthur's hand as it grew tighter. You were beginning to see stars.

His hand fell away, and in the next second, your pocket knife was pressed to your throat.

"I should slit your throat right here." Said the man who wasn't Arthur, "But I think I have a better punishment in mind."

His other hand went to your sweatpants. Your hands shot out and grabbed his, and the knife pressed closer.

"You wanna try that again, kitten?"

You closed your eyes and retracted your hands.

Not-Arthur switched his hands. He cut open your sweats, and with the other hand, held both of your arms above your head.

You started spacing out as Not-Arthur's pants came off. Everytime, it was the same. Whoever it was would be too excited, and it would be over soon.

Yet, somehow, this instance made you upset. Maybe it was because you had spent so much time around Arthur. Maybe it was because this hadn't happened in a while. Most likely, however, and the one thing you didn't want to tell yourself was true: you had almost begun to trust Arthur.

He entered you, and you winced. You didn't think you'd ever been fully prepared before in your life, by anyone.

The knife was back at your throat. You went limp, hoping that would work, but Not-Arthur just laughed and held you up.

He pushed his lips against yours. You didn't respond.

He finished with a laugh- very fitting- and pulled himself together quickly. You crumpled to the floor.

He threw the pocket knife at you. It landed with a clatter in front of your face.

"Keep it," he said. "it'll be useful for next time."

Your stomach churned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha didn't see that coming.... Again. Don't worry, there will be plenty more twists coming along shortly.


	7. An Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You deal with the consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter, but the next is hopefully longer and definitely more interesting.

You had laid on the bathroom floor for a while, shivering. Arthur went somewhere. You were thankful for that. You hated people seeing you cry.

You gathered yourself after a while of not thinking about anything and holed yourself up in your room. You knew from past experience that it was going to be a long while before you could properly think about anything. All the thoughts in your head were static-y and jumbled.

You fell onto your bed, the usually sickening, almost washed-out smell of old lady perfume suddenly a comfort.

Pen ink slid across the comforter and soaked into the exposed skin of your thighs. It was irritating, but you didn’t want to move. You kicked half-heartedly at the newspapers to get them off of your bed. Some ripped before fluttering to the carpet. The noise hurt your ears. You were more overwhelmed than you had been in a while. You stayed still, hoping that all the scents and noises and sensations would just leave you alone.

_What to do now_ was the only thought you were capable of. Everything else seemed shrouded in mystery. Arthur was a sick man- granted, you should have never accepted his offer- but that didn't give him free rein to do whatever he wanted with people. You felt sorry for him, you truly did. Just not when he was capable of stabbing or raping you.

Arthur returned after about an hour of God-knows-what. He tapped at your door, and the first emotion you were able to feel was anger.

The door handle jiggled, and you were momentarily frightened that Arthur would actually get in. The door was locked, however. The knob stopped jiggling after only a few moments.

You curled into yourself, more tears slipping down your cheeks without your permission. You still felt him. You fell into an uneasy slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still reading. It's about to get even more rough.


	8. A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet someone new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See if you can figure out who this one is ;)

You managed to face Arthur nearly a week after the incident. It had taken just that long to prepare yourself for every possible outcome when you saw him. He had been tapping on your door every day, telling you how sorry he was. He made up some good excuses. He even cried a bit. 

His tears finally got to you, and you opened your door while he was having one of his crying fits outside of it. You looked down at him, arms folded. He did look quite pitiful.

He stood quickly, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his sweater.

“I have a show tomorrow night.” He said, giggles erupting from his mouth, “I w-want you to-to see it.”

He trailed off into a fit of laughter. You waited as he hacked it out, then stood straight, awaiting your answer.

You took a moment to weigh your options. 

If you did go, you would be forced to listen to his voice all night, which was something you did not want to happen. His voice was becoming your least favorite sound. Plus, staying behind would give you more time to work on finding a job and getting the Hell out of Arthur’s apartment.

If you didn’t go, however, Arthur would most definitely hold it against you, and you might have to deal with another… incident.

With a sigh, you accepted.

Arthur’s face lit up. He moved to hug you but stopped suddenly when you flinched. Instead, he unfolded one of your hands from your arms and placed a kiss to the back of it. His gentleness was back, and you found it comforting for a moment.

Then you saw his eyes.

In a good mood or not, those eyes scared the living shit out of you now. You hurried back into your bedroom and shut the door. You held the handle until you hear Arthur walk off, then locked the door.

The newspapers were still on the floor, and there was dried ink on the bedclothes. A good distraction.

Arthur hadn’t left by the afternoon. You figured you would have to face him anyway, so you brought your comforter out of your room and took it with you out off the apartment, ignoring Arthur’s questioning.

The basement was cold and smelled damp. All of the washing machines were taken, of course, so you picked up a forgotten newspaper and plopped down on your comforter on the cement floor.

A machine buzzed within minutes of your arrival. You were debating whether or not to just dump the clothes when a very pretty woman a little older than you walked in. She faltered when she saw you on the floor.

“Hello.” she said, “You new in the building?”

You nodded, feeling your throat go dry. She was  _ very _ pretty.

She nodded back and gave you an amused smile. Her machine was the one that buzzed. You watched her gather her things and move them into the dryer, your thoughts going haywire when she dropped a pair of lacy, baby-blue panties. Your eyes met as she picked them up, and she winked.

You stood, gathered up your comforter, and brought it over to the now empty machine. You were stuffing it in when the girl spoke, suddenly behind you.

“That inks not gonna come out with just a wash.”

You jumped and turned slightly to face the girl.

“Rubbing alcohol will,” she continued. “Come on, I’ve got some in my apartment.”

You followed the girl through the halls and up the stairs, using your comforter to cover up the pajamas you were suddenly ashamed of. The girl’s apartment was on the first floor. It was actually nice. It was bright and sunny, unlike Arthur’s apartment.

“My name’s Sophie, by the way.” The girl said as she came back from her bathroom, rubbing alcohol in hand.

You nodded and told her your name. She hummed and smiled.

You suddenly felt as socially inept as Arthur as Sophie told you what to do. You followed her directions silently and quickly, and soon enough your comforter was ink-free.

“Thank you.” You told her, “How can I repay you?”

Sophie smiled, “Let me buy you coffee sometime.”

You were taken aback. You gaped for a second before closing your mouth and nodding.

“Great,” said Sophie. “How about Monday? We can meet out front at nine?”

You nodded again. If Arthur's show went badly, it gave you a chance to give him time to cool off the next morning. Sophie’s smile was even larger than before. She walked you to her door and placed a kiss on your cheek. You fled before she could see the tint of your skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter for you guys. What do you think will happen at Arthur's show? Also, I've noticed the common theme of my work being bookmarked alongside Everybody Plays the Fool by Alternate_Alien, which is incredibly flattering. The author shows a starkly different side of Arthur, and you should check out her work if you like the Joker writings.


	9. An(other) Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V short chapter. We are nearing the end, folks. I have one more big surprise in my arsenal. I might continue past my current set ending point, I might not.

The evening of Arthur’s show, he was practically vibrating with excitement. You were glad to see him in an amicable mood, and there was a sense of trust again. He made you laugh.

You laughed together all the way to his show, which was in a slightly nicer part of Gotham than the apartment. There were only a few people lounging at the bar and around the room full of tables. They all looked disinterested when Arthur was announced.

You laughed at his jokes, though most fell flat and earned him some stares. When he started laughing, that was when you knew everything was going to go downhill. His choking fit was the nail in the coffin.

People called him things, and he had to exit the stage, still laughing but clearly getting more and more upset. You gave everyone disapproving looks as you went onto the stage and through the back exit.

Arthur was messing with his shirt, laughing still. You saw tears roll down his face. You stepped forward, and he looked up at you. He started walking away.

"Arthur, it's okay, really." You said, "Everyone has bad shows, I'm sure of it."

"You don't fucking understand!" Arthur screamed, spinning towards you, whipping a gun out of his waistband.

You stepped back, trembling. Realistically, you knew Arthur would never shoot you in an alley like that, but, as you looked into his eyes, you saw that terrifying man you had very little acquaintance with past the stabbing and rapes.

He backed you into the grimy brick wall and pressed the end of the barrel to your pulse point.

You closed your eyes and accepted your fate.

The gun was gone in a flash, and Arthur had backed away. You opened your eyes.

Arthur was trembling almost as fiercely as you were. The gun slipped out of his grasp and splashed into a puddle. No discharge came out, thank the gods. He ran, and you slid to the ground, having enough sense to drag the gun towards you.


	10. A Good Night's Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie comes to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another short Sophie chapter to hold you over until the big stuff. Don't worry, the chapter after this one will feature Sophie as well.

You laid in that alley for a while, letting the cold seep into your bones until you were numb. You wondered how you were still even considering going back to Arthur’s. 

For one, the only other pair of clothes you had- your pajamas- were at the apartment. As were the details of the interview for the one job you found that interested you. 

You remembered your coffee… appointment… with Sophie that was fast approaching. You saw only one option in this scenario.

You stood and made your way out of the alley, slipping the barrel of the gun into your waistband, just as Arthur had done. You vaguely recalled the path you and Arthur took to get to his show, and that was enough. You set off.

The windows of the apartments facing the street were all dark. The building looked rather foreboding as you stepped inside. It was dead quiet. You briefly wondered whether Arthur got home okay or not before shaking the thought off. Arthur shouldn’t be your top concern.

The sound of light music drifting out of Sophie’s apartment calmed your nerves a bit. It gave you enough confidence to knock, at least.

Sophie appeared seconds later, her usual smile smoothing out and down into a grimace when she saw your apparently ruffled state.

“Rough night?” 

You nodded.

She pulled you inside. In a matter of minutes, you were changed into some of Sophie’s clothes, wrapped in a blanket, and sipping a steaming mug of tea. Sophie was sat next to you, sipping her own tea.

“You wanna talk?” She asked.

You hesitated before shaking your head.

Sophie nodded, “Alright.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, until Sophie set her mug on the coffee table and turned to you.

“You still feeling up to going on that date in the morning?” She asked.

The word date made you blush. You had expected those to be her intentions, but it still surprised you. You figured going out might help you relax a little.

Sophie’s grin returned, and she bounced up and over to a closet. Two blankets were chucked at you.

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it.” She said with a wink, before turning and disappearing down the hall.

How could she expect you to sleep when all you could think about was her smile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weird side note- Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka sets a really appropriate mood for this particular work of mine


	11. An Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date with Sophie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda disenchanted tbh. I'll probably come back to rewrite this one sometime in the future. I really just needed to get a chapter out before everyone completely lost interest.

Sophie awoke you the next morning by tossing a coat onto your sleeping form. The two of you wrapped yourselves up and went to go and get coffee.

Sophie insisted on paying, and honestly, you had no intention of paying. What money would you use?

Still, you got the cheapest things, not wanting to be rude.

The date was not too thrilling for Sophie, you could tell. Your lackluster responses made her shoulders slump and her eyes search to find anywhere more interesting than you.

Still, she brought you home and bestowed a kiss upon your cheek before she entered her apartment. You walked up to Arthur's, a ball of lead in your stomach.

Artthur was perched on the couch, facing the door when you walked in. He leapt up and wrapped his arms around you.

"Where were you?" He asked, "I was so worried. I thought I'd run you off."

He was crying. You felt bile rise in your throat. Did he really think you were still that naïve?

"I found the problem," he said. "and I'm gonna fix it. They want me on The Murray Show in two days."

You gave him a tense smile as he pulled away, something depraved in his eyes.

"I want you to come and watch." 

Your eyes darted to the floor, trying to think of any excuse. You remembered the pile of newspapers on your bed. Arthur had most assuredly gone through them while you were gone.

"I have a job interview in two days. I'm sorry, Arthur." You said evenly.

Arthur's face fell, but he nodded, "If you get a chance, turn on the show when you get back."

With that, he went to sit on the couch. You didn't stick around to see what he was doing. You hightailed it to your bedroom and quickly shut and locked the door.

Time to find an interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know where this is going ;)


	12. A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head.

The coffee shop that Sophie had taken you to was conveniently the only place that would interview you. It was comforting but anxiety-inducing to have something like that to look forward to.

Arthur was in and out for the two days you holed yourself up in your room. He would offer you meals when he was home. He was being pleasant again. You doubted it would last.

The day of the interview arrived. Arthur hadn’t left the apartment by the time you got yourself all gussied up. You passed him in his mother’s room on the way out. He was sitting at her vanity, just in his underwear, with dyed green hair, applying white face paint. Those crystalline eyes caught yours in the mirror. An eerie smile spread over Arthur’s face.

That smile stayed in your head all throughout the walk to the subway.

Subway rides were a common occurrence. The subways were dirty, that would never change, but on that day, you were feeling so good that you decided to ignore the stain you were standing over that was most certainly blood.

The coffee shop was busy. You wanted to order a coffee or something, but the manager was waiting. He was a man in his mid-forties with greasy black hair and a thick mustache. His smile was warm, however, so you decided to trust him.

The manager saw you in the back, in a nice office that smelled like pine and coffee beans. There were the usual questions, then it started to get a little personal.

“What’s your bra size?”

You blinked, “Excuse me?”

“Your bra size,” The manager leaned towards you, his scent suddenly overwhelming. “What is it?”

You moved to wrap your arms around yourself, and the manager’s eyes followed.

“I think, um.” You stumbled, your head spinning, “I have an interview elsewhere. Thank you for seeing me.”

You stood, and though the manager’s eyes followed you, he didn’t make any move to get up. 

Tears were spilling down your cheeks before you even got out of the shop.

The subway was emptier than it had been when you were going to the coffee shop. There were other women, all definitely more reserved than they were in everyday life. You gave them a sad smile as you got on, and they returned it.

Your tears had dried and the sun had set by the time you were back to the apartment building. You considered stopping by Sophie’s, but thoughts of that date re-emerged. You resigned yourself to going back to Arthur’s.

A foul smell greeted your nose as you entered the apartment. Everything was dark. You almost slipped in some sort of liquid while going for the light. 

Light flooded the entryway with the flip of a switch. There was a man on the floor, covered in blood with his head caved in. You wanted to scream, you really did, but the noise was stuck in your throat.

The door burst open again. Arthur.

He looked from you to the body as if assessing things.

“Did you scream?” He asked, laughter already bubbling up in his throat.

You shook your head.

“Good girl.” Arthur laughed.

There was a gun in his hand. You began trembling.

Blue and red lights painted the room from one of the windows. Your heart pumped harder. If you could just convince Arthur to let you live…

A flurry of footsteps was heard. You were sure you would have a heart attack before the police could get to you.

Arthur was looking at you, laughing. His gun was pointed at you.

“Arthur-”

“This is the NYPD!” A gruff voice interrupted you, “Open the door, Fleck!”

Arthur put a finger to his lips. Like that would do any good.

“Last chance!”

Arthur laughed, and the door shook against his back. There was a gunshot, and Arthur laughed harder, though it sounded more like his PBA laugh.

You looked down, and the only word out of your mouth was, “Fuck.”

All in one second, you dropped, the NYPD broke the door down, and Arthur ran for the window. You kept your eyes on Arthur as some strange hands put pressure on your abdomen.

Arthur leaped out of the window and to the fire escape, broken glass trailing behind him. A police officer followed.

The man pressing on your stomach was saying something. You couldn’t hear him.

You had no time to weigh your non-existent options, or to think. All you could do was close your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a long ride. I'm still not very happy with a great deal of this fic, but I'm glad I could finish it at the very least. Thank you all for reading.


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